


Overdose

by jen0101



Category: Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: Blitz looks like Kendrick Lamar, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Slow Burn, dirty sign language talk, really gay Blitz, self concious Hearth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14842607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jen0101/pseuds/jen0101
Summary: After falling on Nidavellir, Hearth is weak, lost and bloody. No one knows how to sign, but luckily he is found by a Fashion school student who had no more fabric in his house. After months of living with each other, they don't know that they are each other's type. Hearthstone is really self-conscious and refuses to acknowledge that anyone would ever find him attractive, whilst Blitz is just a dumb dwarf.





	1. The Beginning

Blitz’s hand shook nervously as he held the white piece of paper, his chubby fingers playing with the soft paper. This was the most nervous he’d ever been around his father, who was always so comforting and supporting, but something about what he was just gonna tell his father made him feel uneasy. As a Svartalfar , the question he was about to ask his father would have gotten him disowned if he had been talking to any other dwarf.

 

“Dad, can I take ASL instead of workshop?” 9-year-old Blitzen, son of Freya, asks his father, his right foot twirling around the floor nervously, handing his father the class election slip which he had to sign. “Please, dad.”

 

His father was working with the chainsaw, and was currently unable to hear the words of his child. This caused Blitzen to take back his words and start walking towards the door, resigned and with his head low, then suddenly he hears the high-pitched sound of the chainsaw stopping and hears his father asking him to repeat himself. Blitzen walks back to his father and holds the paper up to his  face, repeating the question once again. 

 

Bili looked with at his son with a raised eyebrow, taking the glasses dangling from his neck thanks to a chord, positioning them on top of his nose and looking at the class selection paper. “Alf Sign Language? When will you ever use it, Blitz? We are not even elves.”

 

At seeing his son’s face he noticed the instant disappointment, something no father ever wanted to see from his only son. He stared at Blitz, looking for any sign that would give away his son’s true intent, but he found none. 

 

“Dad, who knows how many deaf  elves might move here?” Blitz insists, waving the paper in the air. 

 

“Elves would literally die here due to the lack of sun, also any deaf elf is killed at birth.” His father tried to reason with him, trying to understand why his son would be so insistent on learning this language when he was failing the dwarf language classes. “And besides, why would you not take workshop, that is the most fun class your school offers.” 

 

Instantly, Blitz started shaking, stuttering, looking down at the floor as if the words he was trying to let out were spattered there. The short 9-year-old could not for the life of him form a complete sentence. “But-but I already have the best teacher at home.” He lets out after minutes of seeking a response. 

 

“You can teach me everything I want to know, dad. I think learning ASL would be better since it would be something no one else could teach me, but you can teach me everything I want to know about workshop and more.” Blitzen said almost too fast, hoping his father would catch the bait.

 

In reality he just didn’t want to take workshop, it didn’t call to him. He knew he was decent at it, but awful when it came to being timed and working under stress. Blitzen knew that he would be bullied if he failed at the thing every dwarf was supposed to be good at, so he would just rather not try than being beaten for trying and ending up not being good enough. 

 

He also wasn’t wrong, his father was an excellent craftsman and builder, so he could easily teach his entire class and the teacher. But he just wasn’t interested, what really called to him was the sketchbook under his mattress filled with rough sketches of suits and fashionable chainmail vests. The sketchbook was the only thing he hid from his father, fearing that his father would rage at him if he were to find out, kicking him out of the house or worse. 

 

“Blitzen, my dear,” the old man held his son’s small hands in his calloused ones. “I support you, I will sign this because you know what you want better than anyone else.”

 

His father signed the white paper with a fancy feather pen, the loopy blue signature making Blitzen smile more than he thought he could. He really didn’t care about ALS, he might never meet an elf in his whole life-especially a deaf one- but at least he would get to miss workshop and being teased by his dumb classmates. 

 

He ran upstairs, safeguarding the paper inside of his notebook and taking the sketchbook from under his mattress. The last thing he’d drawn was his ideal model, at 9-years-old,  Blitzen was pretty creative but also knowledgeable when it came to fashion. He was addicted to Midgard TV entertainment, especially America’s Next Top Model, RuPaul’s Drag Race, and Project Runway, and whilst those shows taught Blitzen all he needed to know about fashion, it also helped him built his idea of the perfect model. 

 

He stared at the drawing which had taken him 2 weeks to complete, and he was proud of it, his masterpiece. His ideal model was male, not that women weren’t great models, in fact his first prototype had been female, but for him it didn’t feel right. He was tall, as were most successful models, long limbs and a slim chest, fair skin and a tall neck. He had spiky hair and soft eyes, a smile playing on the sketch’s face.  The only splash of colour on the paper was the white and red striped scarf around his neck, making him look cozy.

 

The scarf had been Blitzen’s first design, and he was dying to start making it a reality. Yet he knew that the scarf didn’t belong anywhere else but on the shoulders of his model, as it would only look nice there. He would sometimes imagine his model in real life, yet he could not properly imagine someone as perfect as the man on the paper. He yet again thought about how lucky he was at his father signing his permission slip, knowing many other dwarves felt like him but wouldn’t be able to miss workshop as it would shatter their father’s pride. 

 

He worked a little more on the drawing before falling into a deep sleep full of candy cane scarves.

* * *

 

“Could you be any more of a disgrace?” Alderman yells at his son, words which fall on deaf ears, literally.

 

8-year-old Hearthstone just cut himself cleaning the shards of glass that had been scattered across the floor due to his brother Andiron kicking a ball and dropping the flower vase on the living room. The glass shard was embedded into his forearm, the laceration would not stop bleeding, green liquid spilling on the white carpet. His eyes wouldn’t leave the gash, so he couldn’t read his father’s lips, and he didn’t want to. 

 

“Besides deaf, dumb.” Alderman pinches his nose, looking an Andrion. “Thank God it wasn’t you, then we would have to take you to The Elders.”

 

Andrion kicked his feet in anger directed at his father, looking up at him with puffed cheeks and raging eyes. “Father, we have to take Hearthstone to the healer. He could get sick.”

 

Alderman kneeled to be eye-to-eye with his son, he then ruffled the boy’s blond hair and smiled devilishly at him.  Andrion looked shockingly like his mother, whilst Hearthstone was a carbon copy of their father, making Alderman just hate him so much more. Alderman gabbed Andrion’s chubby arms softly and said “He is already sick, Andy. The Vanir would be doing him justice by letting him die.”

 

Unfortunately, Hearth had been able to see him say those words. He really believed them when his father said them, it was a fact : the sun never goes down in Alfheim, blood is green, and Hearth should die. He could not change the fact that he was deaf, and his few tries at speaking had only gotten him beatings and nasty glares, he had forced himself to learn how to read lips or else he would have never been able  to understand anything said around him. Only two other people besides him knew ASL, Andrion and an old deaf elf that lived 2 hours away from their city, the latter had been the one to teach Hearth and Andrion how to sign, causing Hearth to be forever grateful, the man had also been ostracized because of his disability despite being a great warrior and a kind man. 

 

Hearth slowly put a closed fist to his slim chest and rolled it around; signing the word ‘sorry’ at his brother. Andrion immediately signed back, ‘it’s not your fault’. Hearth was perplexed at how despite Andrion always being told to hate him, Andrion would always be kind and  understanding towards his brother. 

 

“Andrion, what did I tell you about engaging in such imbecile gesturing?”  His father asked, looking at both children with distaste. “One day I will cut both of his hands, maybe then he’ll learn how to speak.”

 

Alderman leaves the room, calling for one of the servants to clean up the glass from the floor, Greta wouldn’t be happy if she found out her favorite vase had been broken. The tension he leaves in the room is thick,  leaving both kids breathless.

 

The words sent a shiver up Hearth’s spine, making him forget about the pain from the laceration in his forearm. He looked at his brother, and saw that Andrion was raising his hands in order to sign something, with heavy shoulders, Hearth grabs both of his brother’s hands betweens his own and opens his mouth and says “No.” , then putting down his brother’s hands.

 

Andrion could do nothing but hug his brother, promising to himself that if his father ever dared  hurt Heart like that, he would have to go through him first. 

 

Two months later, Andrion died after falling into a well. 

 

The funeral was at 10 in the morning, all of Andrion’s friend from Alf School were there, mourning for their lost friend. Hearth wondered why he’d been dragged along to the funeral, the death glares people sent his way just made him feel worse, but after all, he was the murder weapon; if he wasn’t deaf, he would have heard his brother shouting for help. The slashes on his back from his father’s leather belt felt like they were opening under the harsh sun of Alfheim. Sometimes Hearthstone wished it wasn’t sunny all the time; if everyone was mourning, why must the weather be happy?

 

His mother pinched the back of his forearm, making him turn around to read her lips. “ If I see you making one of those heinous hand movements, you will be sharing the coffin with Andrion.” Hearth couldn’t hear the tone of voice in which she had said it, but judging by the tears falling down her face and  the weird way her mouth would move, he could tell it was the most hurt his mother had ever talked to him.

 

Hearth felt truly alone in his 9 years alive, his brother no longer at his side, people in the funeral talking with a hand covering their mouths so he couldn’t read their lips, not being able to eat for two weeks and the feeling of wanting to pass out and never resurface. His deafness was truly a curse, if he could just undo it, bring his brother back, or just cover the well before Andrion could fall. 

 

Hearth’s mind flew through millions of possibilities: talking to Odin and begging him to make him un-deaf, flying to Folkvanger and bringing him brother back, killing himself and live an eternity in Helheim, where he deserves to be; and lastly, and his final option was to learn magic.

 

So he learned. 

 


	2. Really slutty dorks.

At fourteen  years old, Hearthstone was a little too old to not have been given ‘ the talk’.  _ The talk _ is awkward for everyone, but especially when it comes from a deaf 108-year-old elf who had not had sex in 40 years. Hearth was sat crossed legged in the hard wooden floor of a tree-house, looking intensely at his teacher, the one who had given him a voice when he couldn’t use his own. 

 

“I-N-G-E, she likes you.” The older man signs, looking for reactions from the younger elf. “Have you ever been in a relationship?”

 

Hearth shakes his head while tapping his index and middle finger against his thumb, the sign for  _ no _ . He was quite busy paying his due to his father to be going out with someone or running away to make out under a tree as he saw many  elves his age do, they sometimes chose to hide in his father’s forest. He was grateful that his deafness couldn’t let him hear the sound of the mouth-sucking, seeing it was bad enough. The thought of a relationship was as far away from Hearth’s mind as it could possibly be, he’d already burdened his parents with his silent curse, he couldn’t possibly do that to someone else. 

 

“I don’t want to be.”

 

“Have you at least been told about s-e-x?” The elf finger-spelled the word, choosing not to sign it as he’d never thought Hearth the sign before. “I just want you to be ready when it happens.”

 

Hearth blushed, recognizing the word sometimes coming out of his father’s  friends’ mouth when they came over to his house for poker. He didn’t exactly know what the word meant, but he knew it must be something done with a special person, as many of his father’s acquaintances would look at him while saying “ Who would ever have sex with someone like him? So flawed.” He sometimes hated the fact that he could read lips. 

 

Maybe he wasn’t meant to have sex.

 

Hearth shook his head again, causing his mater to chuckle. The older elf stared at the teenager, not believing that a boy that age had not yet been told about the greatest thing on Earth, that is like hiding Valhalla from a great warrior. The elder man cracked his knuckles, the equivalent of someone clearing their throat before speaking. 

 

“Sex is a great feeling, a sometimes addictive one.”The wrinkled elf explained. “But it should never be forced, both parties should always agree. Sex is when two people love each other, or simply want to have fun, it is like a dance, but much more intimate. It is the insertion of the penis into an opening.” 

 

Hearth’s pale face had turned  a new shade of red, looking as his fingernails, processing the older man’s words like an old computer. He didn’t really need to know what he needed to do with his pee-pee organ besides peeing, this conversation would end up with him combusting of embarrassment. 

 

“Hearthstone, you shouldn’t be ashamed.” The old man signs while rubbing his student’s shoulder reassuringly. “Everyone has sex, and one day, you will too.”

 

Heart combusted, imagining in his head what sex must be like, but he can’t exactly phantom what the word truly means. The thought of someone loving him enough as to share something like that with him, it was surreal; a sick joke by  Loki.

 

“Inge.” Hearth signed. “She doesn’t like me like that. We’re friends.”

 

“Your eyes are still pure.” His mentor explains, a sly glint in his eyes. “If you looked at yourself the way she looks at you, you’d never be self-conscious.”

 

Hearth blushed an even darker shade of red.

 

“Girl came crawling to me in order to learn how to sign. She didn’t want you to feel alone after Andy died.” The older elf signed fast, but still making sure that Hearth was following along. “She loves you.”

 

Hearth shook his head, not wanting to believe his teacher’s words, and then glaring at the older man. “I can’t.”

 

“Or you won’t?”

 

The way Hearth seemed unfazed, his blue eyes sure and set, his jaw strong. There was something wrong, and it wasn’t that Hearth didn’t know that Inge was in love with him, he knew, but he also knew that he couldn’t reciprocate her feelings. After a century alive, the older elf had picked up a few tricks to find out the truth about people, reading them  instead of hearing them.

 

“Sex is not reserved for men and women.” The older elf began signing again, with a reassuring smile on his white face. “Men can have sex with other men.”

 

Hearth gasped, grasping his shirt with eyes wide, and immediately the older alf knew what Alderman’s stance on same-sex relationships was.  Hearth looked like a grenade had burst in front of his face, his pupils blown by the information.

 

“Isn’t it disgusting?” Hearth asked, and then he took a Y-sign to his chin and tapped it there. “Wrong?”

 

“What’s wrong is beating and harassing your child because he’s deaf.” The older elf signed in a harsh manner. He wanted the best for his disciple, the same scrawny 5-year-old boy who’d begged him to teach him how to sign, with a fiery glare and thirst for knowledge. After Andrion had died, the fire in Hearth’s eyes had died down, only a small flame fighting to stay lit. 

 

“Do you like men, H?” The old man signed with heavy hands.

 

Hearth shook from his seat on the ground, looking at the air as if he was trying to solve a calculus problem and not his sexuality. Hearth looked at the only person besides his brother that had shown him compassion, and found that he couldn’t lie to the man. “I don’t know, sir.”

 

Alfnir figured it made sense, Hearth was trapped in an isolated chamber in his father’s mansion, with no view of the outside world, his only purpose in life was to pay his debt to his brother. Of course the boy didn’t know what he liked, he’d never gotten the chance to appreciate human anatomy outside of his own, he didn’t know what being hugged by a female and having her breasts press against your chest felt like , or maybe the current that goes up your spine when a man’s crotch brushes against your butt. Hearth, from a world of warmth and light knew nothing but coldness and emptyness, he’d never been touched in the way lovers are touched, he was still pure and innocent. 

 

Alnir couldn’t let his disciple be dumb to the wonders of the human psyche. He remembered the stash of porn magazines he’d confiscated from his son  when he was a teenager, they were still hidden under the upstairs room that had spent 40 years catching dust. He ran upstairs fast without signing anything to Hearth, who had a puzzled look on his face. The older man came down the stairs with five magazines. They were all rated R.

 

“These were my son’s.” The man signs, a sad smile on his face, handing the smutty magazines to the teenage alf. “Two are female and three are male. You have nothing to be ashamed about, personally, I like women. There is nothing wrong with liking boys, just as long as they also like you back. One day, you will find the woman or man of your dreams. You can leave this whole fucking city behind, find somewhere better for you. I can’t explain sex to you with words, it is something you will have to experience for yourself.”

 

“What happened to your son?” Hearth signed, looking for any sign that the topic was off-hands. “You never told me about him.”

 

“My son was the first person to accept me for who I am.” He took his index and middle finger and dragged it from his ear to his mouth. “Deaf. I also accepted him for who he was. The fact that I accepted him wasn’t enough. Some people believe different is wrong, especially  elves. He was an angel, a sweet boy ready to devour the world. The only difference between him and his classmates was that he liked men. They wouldn’t leave him alone, as hard as I tried to make sure that they didn’t touch him: who listens to a deaf elf? He killed himself 40 years ago, it only gets harder for me to accept it.” 

 

Hearth sobbed into the magazines, tears on top of an elf-woman’s breast. Hearth always tried his best to conceal his emotion and what he was feeling, but after seeing his master’s story, his heart-strings broke into millions of pieces. His sobbing couldn’t be stopped along with the feeling of utmost lament inside his body, the feeling felt worse than a beating, than being isolated, even than the feeling of being an empty cup.  

 

Hearth signed sloppily, tears trailing down his cheeks like a river. “What hope do I have left? I’m already deaf; what if I’m also g-a-y?”

* * *

 

 

Blitzen groaned as his load was shot into his palm in the steaming shower; jerking off was truly Odin’s blessing to teenage dwarves. Blitz felt renewed, his nappy hair now soft thanks to all the conditioner he had put in it, and thanks to his jacking-off , all of his muscles were relaxed. This had been the third time he’d jerked off in the same week, he really needed to get laid, but no one in his town suited his high standards. He’d jerked off to porn once or twice, but it didn’t do it for him, his imagination was so much better, and the drawings under his mattress were a proof of it. 

 

He still didn’t know why he hid them under the mattress when no one else would see them, his father had died the year prior, leaving him nothing but the apartment. He could have an orgy room in the apartment and no one would tell him anything, but he liked to keep things as if they hadn’t changed. He came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his head and another one around his waist, sitting in front of his room’s mirror and started to do his hair.

 

Blitzen  loved the fact that they could listen to Midgard’s radio station in Svartalfar, but since Hip-Hop was quite famous in Midgard, it was also famous in his town. Since people started listening to it, everyone insisted that Blitzen looked exactly like Kendrick Lamar, and after a quick Internet search, he found the resemblance uncanny, but inspired himself  from his hairstyles. Blitzen started braiding his hair in the same fashion as the distinguished rapper. 

 

He also practiced for his ASL final exam, he’d been taking the class for 5 years, and he’d gotten good. He was fluent in ASL, and his teacher’s favorite student, learning a lot about the subject and then putting it into practice. He still didn’t know when in his life it would be necessary for him to use ASL, his father had been right, after writing a research paper for his Global Perspectives class on elves and their treatment of the disabled, it had been left clear that alf folks are not kind to their handicapped and are usually aborted or killed at birth. 

 

He wanted to send all the elves to Helheim, he wouldn’t care if someone was deaf, mute, or a fucking dragon, if he vibed with them, he was going to be nice to them. Still, ASL was the easiest A of his life; what was the difference between Calculus and Alf Sign Language? He wasn’t going to use either in life, so why was one an elective and the other one a graduation requirement?

 

After braiding his hair, which not to blow his own horn, but they came out pretty good, he went to his bed and took out his sketchbook. He’d gotten better at sketching since he was a child, he’d also elaborated on his perfect model. His last sketch was of a male chest, slim but toned, leading to a soft legs and long limbs. He often daydreamed of his model, tied to a bed, begging with pleading eyes for him to be touched, only to be declined. Ok, maybe he was a little egocentric by having his own creation be his fantasy; but where in Svartalfar would be find a tall, white, slim, long-limbed man?

 

Dwarves were already ripped by default, they spent long periods of time swinging a hammer up and down and lifting heavy equipment;  even Blitz himself was ripped compared to an average Midgardian, and he could break an elf in half with his knee. Blitz also liked to work out, finding that it released a lot of pent-up emotions and it also helped with health,  his biceps and triceps burst out of his old shirts sometimes and his thighs were big enough to crush a watermelon. 

 

His model was a fantasy, that was it, but couldn’t a 15-year-old dare to dream? Maybe if he visited Midgard once he would find someone to fit his description, someone willing to do all the things he’d already thought about in the shower. Blitzen laughed at his thoughts, he was just a horny teenager, that was all. He went back to drawing clothes, a suit here, a dress there, until his hand got tired. He started watching TV, channel surfing, not finding anything suited to rid him of his boredom. 

 

Maybe the R-rated channels would give him some amusement; he was right. He didn’t go to the dwarf porn channel, it was boring, and full of stereotypes. The Midgardian one was just plain weird, with girls doing things with a cup that they shouldn’t be doing. Now, the alf one, that one he’d never browsed through, after learning ASL, he might as well learn something new about them. 

 

He didn’t know much about elves but the fact that they were pretty up-tight and they hated dwarves. For a second, he thought that maybe he wouldn’t be attracted to them, but fought against it and kept searching. Then something caught his attention, it was an elf, but he was going solo with a pink dildo. 

 

Ok, maybe elves weren’t that boring. 

 

This elf was perfect, his limbs were long and defined, a toned but slim abdomen with skinny arms, blue eyes and blonde spiky hair. He could’ve sworn that he was dreaming, that guy was his model. The way he bobbed up and down on the synthetic penis was regal and divine, Blitzen had never been that jealous of an inanimate object in his whole life. Elves were really wonderful creatures, Blitz spent no time taking his dick out and moving along with the elf. 

 

Blitzen didn’t speak elf, but he was sure the things the man was saying were the dirtiest mumbles he’d ever heard in his life. His eyes couldn’t leave the screen as the elf moaned and shifted on the object, looking for it to hit his prostate just right.  Blitzen became intoxicated with anything that had to do with this elf, he’d never seen someone so beautiful before, so out-of-this-world. He’d been looking for models in the wrong place, after graduating, he had to visit Alfheim. 

 

He came with the man on the screen, seeing as the white liquid was spread all over the alf man’s chest. God, Blitz was so achingly gay. Men were handsome in every specie, especially elves. He wanted nothing more than to find out who this man was and ask for his hand in marriage. He looked him up online, and his name was Ragnar, and alf who was quite known for his private sessions, plugging in millions of viewers weekly, he was 27 and was married. 

 

Blitz would have to deal with just jerking it to that elf. He was beautiful, and was stuck in Blitz’s head with duct tape, he couldn’t do his homework, work out, eat, or cook properly just thinking that his perfect model was alive and married to an alf-woman named Barbara. In his head, Blitzen had already planned a whole life with Ragnar, they would move to Midgard and set up a clothing store called  _ Blitzen’s Best _ , they would live on the top part of the shop and adopt a child once they were financially stable, they would get married in his mother’s palace and live happily ever after.

 

But he was just fifteen.

 

He cussed himself out for being so obsessed with one man, but the way he moved and looked had just made Blitzen a victim of his charms.  

 

The damned elf was the reason he had a hard-on in the middle of his Fashion History class, he could not stop thinking about the ways his hips moved to get more friction, and it was causing him to not really care what a Dwarf Queen had worn to her coronation and what silk it was made out of. His mind wandered, it wandered to Ragnar’s refined hip bones, to his beautifully toned ass, to the way his hole would stretch as it took in a dildo, just the thought made him cross his legs, squirming as his throbbing penis ached for relief. Only 45 minutes to go before the class ended and it already felt like hell. 

 

And to make matters worse. 

 

“I see you’re paying so much attention, Blitzen.” His teacher coughed, reaching for his attention. “Why don’t you come up here and tell us what three dwarves worked on Elva III’s wedding gown?”

 

_ Shit. _

 

There was no way for him to hide his very obvious situation, so he just gulped, and stood up with shame. As soon as he stood up, his friend Darius blurted out the three answers  really fast, looking back at Blitzen with a smile. Darius had really come in a clutch. Blitzen could not think about how he could repay him.

 

“Darius, after-school detention.” The teacher groaned, going back to her lesson without acknowledging Blitz.

 

He was really grateful.

 

After school, as he made his way back to his apartment, he was greeted by his friend Darius grinning from ear to ear. Darius was  probably the only nice dwarf in his Fashion classes and a great craftsman, he was the son of the mayor and great at various sports. At the beginning, Blitz had had a crush on him, but with time it had become obvious just how straight Darius was, and he quickly lost interest, choosing for both to just stay friends. 

 

“Dude, I totally saved your ass in History.” Darius mocked his friend while walking alongside Blitzen. “ I’ve never had that problem though.”

 

Blitzen chuckled, his fingers inside the grey trenchcoat he had sown on his own, it was cold in Svartalfar, and it was the perfect opportunity to  show off his winter ‘collection’. “Thank you so much, I would’ve been made fun of for decades.”

 

“It’s fine, my friend.” Darius smiled widely. “But what was causing you problem? Was it Big Booty Sally that sits in front of you? Because she is smoking.”

 

Blitzen had still not come out to anyone, deeming it no one’s business, and also afraid of the backlash he would suffer if it were to be made public. If Darius thought he was straight, hey, that was his interpretation based on evidence Blitzen had given him.  And to be fair, Sally did have a pretty nice rear for a girl. 

 

“Afraid not.” Blitzen gave short answers, the cold air making his nose turn red. “It just happens, you know. My mind just wanders and then shit like that happens.”

 

“I feel you, bro.” Darius thought to himself for a second. “ When it happens to me I just think of naked elves, they’re so skinny and weak, it just turns me off. You could try it, too.”

  
Blitzen almost choked on his own spit. 

* * *

 

Hearthstone felt every ridge and smooth line in the rune stones, fearing that they might be fake. He had found them while searching through the abandoned castle a few hours out of town, he had found them five months after Andrion had passed, and after a lot of research he had discovered that they could be used to do magic. 

 

This discovery had given him a euphoric feeling he’d never felt before, he felt like he was on Midgard with the big castles and the dragons, he was dying to go to Midgard and visit all of their beautiful  fairy-tale places. Since he had found them, he had been playing around with them, so far all he’d done was make water grow out of a rock, but nothing else. He would give his life to be able to fully practice magic, not be limited to a few knock-off magic tricks.

 

There was nothing to do in his ‘room’ but stare at the ugly blue fur rug that was a reminder of how worthless he truly was. There was barely any gold on top of the  dead animal, as if he dared eat, two coins would be taken from his loot, and if he made a mistake, five would be taken. It was mission impossible to fill the rug, maybe that’s the reason his father had chosen to punish him like that, because his brother’s death was a debt the would never finish paying. 

 

He put the runes down, tired of tracing the same object for hours. He thought about the talk he’d had with Alfnir about the  _ s word _  and the magazines now hiding under his makeshift bed. He’d never really given much thought as to what he was attracted to, he was just trying to survive as a deaf elf in a society that hates imperfection, if he turned out to be gay, that was just another ‘imperfection’ that would fall on his shoulders. He contemplated on whether he would find his sexual orientation once he left his city, maybe then he could find out whether he liked men or not. 

 

But the magazines hiding under the mattress were basically calling to him like a neon sign. They’d been on his mind since the minute they’d fallen on his hands,  he had felt like they weighted tons as he hid them in his leather jacket while walking back home. He would walk in fear of what would happen if his father found them, but reassured himself that his father was never in his side of the mansion, the servants were the only ones allowed there.

 

He lifted the mattress with care, remembering that even if he didn’t, other people could hear whatever noise he made. The five magazines felt more like a treasure than the stack of coins in the middle of the room, he grabbed them with the utmost care, they were full of dust and looked vintage, after all they were 40 years old. He only grabbed the two first ones, choosing to leave the other three ones under the mattress. 

 

The first one was named Alfgasm, and it showed a picture of a lady elf with her breasts out, and Hearthstone shook his head; is that supposed to be attractive? He scanned the pages of the magazine, trying to find something that would entice him, mostly it was all women in various positions, naked. Hearth stared at a picture of a woman showing him her private parts, looking back at the camera with a naughty smile, he could see why people would be attracted to her, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t attracted to the girl pinching her nipples, or to the one slapping her own ass, or to the one that had something stuck in her vagina, it just didn’t ring his bell. 

 

That was the moment his hands started sweating, if he didn’t like women; then what the hell did he like?

 

With shaky hands, he grabbed the second one, where there was a man on the cover. The magazine was called “Travel through the Tree of Life, and it was full of men from all across the 9 worlds. The first world was his own, Alfheim, and there was a picture of a tall, slender elf sticking his butt out for the camera, the way his hard penis hung in patience made Hearth’s eyebrow shoot up, imagining himself in a similar position, and deciding he liked the idea. Yet the elf also didn’t do much for him because of how much he looked like himself, so he passed the page to find Midgard,  where tall blonde man with an erect penis was seen, and if Hearth’s dick didn’t twitch then he would be lying, the man had a gorgeous physique with arms that he would love to be hugged with, the way his dick looked just looked so appetizing to Hearth, wishing he could feel it in his hand, it was definitely bigger than his own. He chose to skip Jotunheim, Asgard, Vanaheim, Helheim, Muspelheim, and Niflheim, only left with Nidavellir, as he stared at the chocolate man with a seductive face and a definitely huge penis, Hearth’s stomach did a back flip and his dick raged with emotions, and he soon came to the realization.

 

_ I’m so gay. _

 

He knew that dwarves were usually muscular due to their workload, but this man was an exaggeration, his back was huge, and his arms were moderate, but the thing between his legs was impossible not to look at, it was enormous. The sight of it caused a weird feeling in Hearth’s body, and it only got worse once he felt his ass spasm. Never before in his life had he been that hard, his eyes not leaving the man in the page, he palmed himself through his jeans. That was the first time he’d realized how annoying denim really is, so pulled down his fly and touched himself through his boxers. He’d never felt that weak before, pleasure touching every spot of his body, he imagined himself being pleasured by the dwarf on the magazine, and his aching dick twitched again in his hand, begging for release.

 

He soon realized that what he was doing wasn’t enough, so he explored, he put a dry finger in the opening of his butt, and realized it hurt. So being the smart elf he is, he wet it with his own saliva before introducing it; the feeling was surreal, a wave of pleasure took over his body, soon he was fingering himself while palming his aching erection, and thanks to his deafness he couldn’t hear the dirty moans coming out of his mouth. The feeling was totally new to Hearthstone, who was now enjoying it more than anything. He imagined calloused chocolate hands grabbing at his bony hips roughly and slamming Hearth’s ass against the man’s hard cock, it was like a dream, and Hearth wondered how in the world he hadn’t found out about it before. 

 

With now two fingers in his ass, and his hand now fully on his dick, the feeling became too much and he came on his hand, some dripping on the mattress. Hearthstone had never seen cum before, and it looked weird to him, kind of like liquid soap. The way his body felt after masturbating was so relaxing, his muscles not tense for once in his life, his chest sweaty and his legs shaking. 

 

He needed to shower, so he left the magazines on top of his bed and headed to the shower, treating himself to hot water. Sadly, the shower also gave him time to think about how; one, he didn’t find women attractive, two,  he didn’t find male elves attractive, three, he had just found out he preferred black dwarves, which was the last thing you would find in Alfheim. Before he could even catch himself, he started sobbing, so it was true, he was both deaf and gay, it was like Odin wanted him to be isolated and ostracized from his kind. His butt felt numb without anything inside of it, and his dick was limb between his legs.

 

Even though what he had just done was wrong, it felt so right. He wanted nothing more than to be in the hands of the man in the magazine, maybe then he would find out what sex truly is, and if he would like it as much as his teacher said he would. If doing it by himself felt that good, doing it with another person must be divine.

 

He washed the rest of his body, trying not to think about anything else but the tasks he would do to get more gold. His muscles were relaxed for once, and this made his state of mind much clearer, and he knew he had to get out of his house before he lost his sanity. After 20 minutes, he dried himself and headed to his bedroom. 

 

That’s when he saw his father, the male version of Hel sitting in his bed with his legs crossed, shooting him a dirty glare. He had  _  Travel through The Nine Worlds  _ in between his hands, the exact page with the dwarf in display, causing Hearthstone to put his head down in shame, his father had found yet another reason to hate him, and Hearth knew that this would ruin his life even more. Why couldn’t he be happy just for a day?

 

“Hearthstone, when your mother first had you, we were delighted.” Alderman spoke, and even though Hearth couldn’t hear the tone, he knew the words were laced with venom. “When we found out you are… deaf, the sky fell on us. When you turned 6 and still didn’t know how to speak,  you made us the town’s laughing-stock, then you come home one day with the silly gestures, and because of your ignorance Andrion dies before he can even become a man. You’ve done nothing but disappoint us, and despite your imperfection, you are still an Alderman, and my legacy would live through your children, and now I realize you have even disappointed me in that sense. Out of all the things on Earth, Hearthstone, you had to mess up and be a faggot.”

 

His father threw the magazine and the floor with distaste, not even noticing the wetness in his son’s eyes as he grabbed all the golden coins from the blue rug and put it in his pockets. “Start all over. Don’t come up for food until two weeks pass. I hope you’re reading my lips, because the next time I see you again, I don’t know if I will hold my urge to kill you.”

 

After that day, Hearthstone noticed many things changing around his life, and they made him furious. The Hulder wore revealing maid outfits, with an obnoxious cleavage and their buttocks showing through their skimpy skirts, instead of making Hearth desire them, it just made him pity them. His communication with his teacher had stopped, as he found out the elf had died of a heart attack, it had caused great grief in Hearth’s heart, but he had to move on with his life. His father had been making the tasks more difficult, making acquiring coins almost impossible, forcing Hearth to stay in his house for much longer than he truly wanted.

 

Three days after turning sixteen, the pressure became too much for him to bear. This had been the worst beating he’d had in his whole life, it had all started when Alderman’s friends began seeing the way Hearthstone would limp, they accused him of being fucked when it reality it had been the harsh beatings he’d endured from his mother the night before. At Alderman’s pride being hurt in such a way, after drinking heavily, he let out all of his rage in his son, first punching him until a blood vessel broke in the teenager’s  cheek, then in blind rage, putting his hand on the younger elf’s throat and grabbing it tightly, making Hearth’s lungs not receive enough supply of air and almost give out, asphyxiating him. He’d been convinced to stop by Inge, who endured an even harsher beating. His mother had just stood on the sidelines, watching with cold, calculating eyes, as if looking at a dog being disciplined. 

 

Two hours later he was sat on his bed, his throat aching and two hand-shaped bruises on his neck. His tears were salty and didn’t mix well with the coppery taste of his own blood, he hated his life, how no one would use sign to talk to him, how he was treated for liking men, how his father wouldn’t even look  him in the eyes when he said how much he hated him.

 

There was no place for him in the world. Maybe it was better for him to just go forever, fall and not expect to go up. There was no light at the end of his tunnel.

 

He held onto the  _ gebo _ rune, one that looked like an X, as he cried himself to sleep. He kept thinking of if he would ever find a place where he was loved, where he would go to a place that was actually  home and be appreciated for who he was and how he was, where they signed and never yelled at him for not speaking. He wished for a place where he could be as gay as he wanted without fearing having his teeth knocked out, and he wanted physical contact more than anything, he wanted to be loved. He wanted to make up for all the hugs, kisses, and touches that his parents had never given him.

 

And just like that, he felt himself falling.


	3. Hey it's the gays.

Blitzen cursed himself as he threw pieces of fabric in the air, trying to find  _ the one _ . The prototype for a camouflage Henley had been in his brain for months, nestling in the back of his head, and when he’d actually begin to get the equipment for the piece of clothing, he discovered that he lacked the fabric to start creating the shirt. 

 

He really didn’t want to go to town, it was Sunday and people were gathered around the townsquare buying fresh vegetables and wood for crafting, and he hated being in a crowd more than anything. But, he couldn’t get the camouflage Henley out of his head, it would be nagging him the rest of the day, making him miserable. It was only nine in the morning, he would go later when the shops were empty. 

 

The first part of his morning routine was skincare, there was no way in hell he would go out to the street without at least 5 different products on his face; starting with his trusted face wash, followed by a scrub, then a tonic, some water from an Alfheim lake, a little bit of snow from the Himalayas, and he was set. The second part was working out, and it was the best part of his routine, as he could get as creative as he wanted; he worked out his abs and back for twenty minutes, cramping his muscles and leaving them aching, a feeling he personally loved. While working out he also listened to music, humming along to the lyrics as he bent down for a push-up. After a rough workout, he would shower, where he would unwind about the struggles of his day to day life, he was in his last year of Fashion school, and would soon be graduating, causing his workload to excidenly increase. 

 

After showering, he would check on his one and only obsession; the porn actor Ragnar. Even after 2 years, Blitzen was just as obsessed with Ragnar as the first time when he’d seen him, he’d seen every one of his videos multiple times, especially the shower ones. Someone Blitz thought to himself; how can a man that can take dick so well be straight? Ragnar was his living fantasy and the reason he’d say no to plenty of dwarves that had asked him out, none of them would please him like Ragnar would, and that ate him from the inside out. The newest video on Ragnar’s website was one of himself fucking a black dildo stuck to the wall, looking at the camera with a hungry look; like he was confessing to the audience that whoever is hittin ain't hittin it right.

 

Blitz did not chose to masturbate to that video, he just chose to observe all the movements the elf made as he took in the synthetic appendage, his back arched as he rocked back and forth to create friction between his ass and the dildo. The elf was truly god sent, with a slender physique and a great ass, and since discovering him, Blitzen’s model had acquired a face. Suddenly Blitzen imagined Ragnar with his model’s scarf, the one he’d knitted over a year ago and laid on top of his crafting chair, and Blitzen pulling him by the scarf into his dick, pulling the scarf everytime he wanted to go deeper. If he ever met Ragnar, Blitzen would give him his scarf and fuck him with it, and when he glanced at the video, he saw a full view of Ragnar’s face, drool falling down his pink lips, tears welling at the corners of  his cerulean eyes, his nose red from being rubbed against the sheets, and in that moment Blitzen was certain that if perfection had a face, it would be Ragnar’s.

 

After fueling his Ragnar addiction, he began getting dressed to head to town, where he would get the fabric to start working on the Henley.  He chose to dress in a tight fitted long-sleeved white shirt with a pair of denim skinny jeans and dress shoes, he liked to make a good impression on anyone he saw on the street. Not many dwarves enjoyed Fashion as much as he did, so he was the best dressed man in Svartalfar, but it wasn’t something to be proud of when only 1 out of 12 dwarves owned a tie. 

 

When he stepped out of the building he realized how underdressed he was, the Nidavellir cold was unforgiving, and Blitz was surprised that his beard hadn’t turn into icicles.  He ran back into his apartment and fetched himself a trenchcoat, but he soon found that it didn’t cover enough for him to be comfortable on the street, and that’s when he noticed the big eyesore in the room: the candy-cane scarf on top of his crafting chair, while he wanted the first person that wore it to be his model, he had to be rational; that was the only scarf he owned, and without one he would die due to  the extreme cold outside his apartment. He wrapped the scarf around his neck, now much more comfortable, and headed out.

 

The streets of Svartalfar were still packed, Blitzen had to elbow several people just to able to leave his street. They were really overpopulated, and if Freya kept wanting to expand her jewelry collection, then the population would only grow more. He groaned as he felt two children run past him, almost making him fall to the floor, he felt like his day would only get worse, as his mood was already spoiled.

 

Blitzen started signing his favorite song while he walked, something he would do to make sure he didn’t forget ASL and to keep himself calm, it always worked. Save from himself, only three more dwarves knew sign language, and one of them had been the teacher. ASL was truly a wonderful language full of expression and culture, he was truly thankful that he’d been given the opportunity to learn the language and become fluent.

 

He stopped by Fabrics & More for fabric that turned into whatever color and texture you wanted it to turn, it was expensive because of its quality. The owner of the shop, Gustav, knew Blitzen since the boy’s Freshman year of Fashion School, and Blitzen had turned into his most frequent customer. 

 

Gustav, an old barrel-shaped man that was a couple of hundred  years old smiled at his customer, folding several pieces of fabric in different ways. “What brings you here today, Blitz?”

 

Blitz smiled at the owner of the shop, the only person he truly liked in his whole town. Bringing down his scarf to let his mouth free, he tells the older dwarf. “Just looking for the camouflage fabric. Have you got any left?”

 

The older man smirked, as if saying “You damn well know I do.”

 

“Were you busy yesterday? I didn’t see you at the _ making. _ ”

 

Blitz’s eyes rolled involuntarily, he hated the age-old dwarf tradition of challenging each other to  _ makings _ , they were immature and he chose to go to as few as he could, choosing to not engage in such imbecile events. He forced a smile as he explained himself to the older man. “I was taking my winter finals for Fashion History, I came home too tired to go. Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, no one died.” Gustav shrugged, taking inventory of some of the things in his store. 

“By the way, your scarf is so nice. Where did you get it?”

 

Blitzen blushed at being complimented, not quite yet used to the feeling of people liking his designs. “I made it myself.”

 

Gustav pushed his thick-rimmed glasses to the bridge of his nose. “That’s some good work. Keep it up and you’ll become a high-end designer.”

 

“Don’t give a dwarf hopes.” Blitzen chuckled nervously, burying his hand inside of his trenchcoat.  “I really hope I can graduate and just be done with it, you know?”

 

“Bili would have been really proud of you, son.” Gustav smiled at the younger dwarf while holding a piece of beige fabric. “Here is the camouflage fabric, all it will take to be activated is ginger root… and because it’s you, you get 60% off, but don’t go telling everyone.”

 

Now Blitzen was extra happy, the discount had saved him a great deal of money, money that he really didn’t have. The plastic bag felt light in his hand, and it caused him to double-check if the item was really there. Because of his great mood, he chose to treat himself to a nice hot sub.

 

And that’s how he ended up walking through the town's square with a happy smile and a sub on his hand, there wasn’t as many people as there were in the morning, mossglow was usually the time when people napped, so it made sense that not many were walking around anyway. His eyes wandered to the streets, saddened by the few amount of clothing stores that were accessible, he made many of his own clothes, as all the outfit combinations that had gone through his head could not be found in a clothing store in Svartalfar. Even though there was that one  clothing store reserved for biker outfits, full of leather jackets and black denim jeans, needless to say he hated walking past that store.

 

Once he’d read on a article that the world of fashion was Alfheim, and he was really looking forward to studying abroad in Alfheim after turning eighteen, and maybe he would also meet the love of his life, Ragnar. Maybe he was a dreamer, but dreaming never killed anyone, and if he did make it big, he would have a franchise in Alfheim, and one in every single other world in the universe, if he was lucky and the odds played out for him.

 

Too absorbed in his thoughts, Blitzen stumbled across a mob of whispering people, looking at each other with confusion. They were all surrounding something, and for a moment  Blitzen was sure that it was just another animal carcass, but as he neared the scene, he realized the body was too big to be one of an animal. He made it to the front of the circle, where he could see what the big commotion was all about; there was a man in the middle of the crowd, his white clothes were drenched in a green liquid, his white spiky hair was going in all directions, the man had the bluest eyes Blitz had ever seen along with the sharpest cheekbones, his body was slender and tall, with few muscles and long limbs, yet he only thing he could see were two hand-shaped bruises in the middle of the boy’s neck. Blitz made eye contact with the boy, and he knew; it was an elf.

 

The tall man made a fist with his thumb sticking out and put it on top of his left palm  and shook it around, his pupils blown and his body weak. Without more explanation, Blitzen signed to him  _ It’s ok, I can help. _

 

He saw the boy gasp, probably not used to being approached in ASL. The boy crawled towards the dwarf, grabbing him by the shoes and coughing as he did so. Everyone in the crowd looked at the taller man with disgust, they all knew what he was, and it disgusted them; since the Alf-Dwarf war, there had been tensions between the two races, and having an elf in their town seemed like a big “fuck you” to all the dwarves that had died during combat. Blitzen couldn’t bring himself to hate the man, he was helpless, lost in a world he didn’t know, and he was also deaf. 

 

The marks on his neck made Blitzen upset, wondering who would ever hurt such a delicate creature, with a sleight of hand, he took off his scarf and positioned it around the shoulders of the elf, covering the ugly bruises. The tall man gave him a small smile before passing out, falling unconscious in front of everyone. 

 

“Who is he?” Someone in the crowd whispered.

 

“Of course Bili’s son would help such a creature.” Another man huffed. “They really have no shame.”

 

Blitzen tightened his fists, then proceeding to grab the unconscious body and swinging it over his shoulders, even though the man was much taller than he was, he was incredibly thin, making him easy for transportation. Blitzen gave the townspeople a dirty look before walking towards his apartment. It was  a hard walk up the stairs with a 6’1 elf in his shoulders, but he made it work, he was not gonna leave the poor elf a victim of butthurt dwarves. 

 

He held a smug smile on his face as he thought that this was what almost a decade of ASL classes had been preparing him for. Now he had a deaf elf to take care of, something that would have been impossible if he didn’t know how to sign. Upon taking a good look at the elf he realized that Alfheim maybe wasn’t the capital of fashion, especially basing himself on the ripped white T-shirt and the beige potato-sack jeans,  the boy’s face was also pretty beaten up, adorned by a swollen eye, a bruise in his cheek, and a broken lip. 

 

Once he got to his apartment, he positioned the elf on his father’s bedroom, as it was the biggest bed in the house and would give the elf enough space to be comfortable once he woke up. Now that they were alone, Blitzen checked out his new housemate, he was definitely tall, and really thin, thinner than he would like, his face, even though beaten, was obviously heavenly, with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, a fair complexion and a tall neck. Blitzen was too worried about the man to check him out even further, choosing instead to make the elf  feel comfortable once he regained consciousness. He turned on the room’s lights, knowing that elves can’t survive without light. 

 

He would have to brush up on his ASL if he wanted to keep a conversation with the poor man, who was now snoozing on top of the bed that had been empty for so long. Blitzen was aching to know how the man had come such a long way from Alfheim to Svartalfar, it was a suicide mission to try to world-jump, so the elf must be pretty strong in order to have survived such feat, but looking at the way his the outline of his ribs could be seen through the white T-shirt, how his collarbone seemed to be protruding out of his body, and how his bony arms couldn’t seem to even be able to lift a single leave  told him that the elf wasn’t strong enough to jump 7 inches, let alone from a world to another. 

 

Blitz spent what seemed like an eternity waiting for the elf to wake up, so he got busy. He cleaned the living room, made the dishes, put away some of the dirty laundry, and as a last resort, began working on his camouflage Henley. The feeling of thread against his finger was one that was orgasmic to Blitz, who couldn't have enough of it, he had threads of every color and size, and he used them all equally, making his stitching colorful. Soon the minutes turned into hours, and without noticing, Blitz had made it past midnight working on the Henley, and it was coming along pretty nicely, that is before he cut himself when he felt a hand on his shoulders.

His thumb was bleeding profusely, and the first thing he could do was yell and snap at whatever had touched him. When he looked back, a flinching elf was staring down at him, his eyes bloodshot and a nervous facial expression. Blitzen licked away the blood from his thumb and applied a band-aid that he always kept close to himself just in case anything happened, and it had turned out to be a good idea. The elf didn’t look that well-rested, even though he had slept for at least a good ten hours, but Blitz didn’t comment on that. 

 

_ How did you sleep?  _ Blitz signed, trying to make his facial expressions as welcoming as possible and keep his body language casual.

 

The elf looked at him with gratefulness, almost wanting to sob right there in Blitz’s living room, but choosing instead to keep a poker face.  _ Who are you?  _ He signed with tense shoulders.

 

_ B-L-I-T-Z-E-N _ The dwarf made sure to sign every letter clearly, and making sure the elf was catching up to him.  _ I’m a dwarf, and you? _

 

The elf’s face reddened a little bit at the sign for dwarf, but it was concealed due to the bruises on his face. _ H-E-A-R-T-H-S-T-O-N-E, Elf. _

 

_ How did you find me? _

 

_ You were passed out on the towns-square, you were beaten up pretty bad. _ Blitzen signed with concern. _ Are you feeling better? _

 

Hearthstone’s eyes almost flew out of their sockets, as if he had just been told something incredible. He stared at the world around him and blinked several times.  _ I’m in Nidavellir? _

 

_ Yes.  _

 

_ You want me to find a way to send you back home? _

 

The elf shook his head, almost making the dwarf afraid that the elf was looking for a way to behead himself. Then he came to the conclusion; those bruises weren’t from dwares, those bruises were from Alfheim. 

 

Hearthstone was tall, even taller than when he’d been laid out in bed, and it the fact that Blitzen had to look up to sign to Hearthstone was doing bad things for his pride. Blitzen coughed after three minutes of awkward staring and pointed at his bathroom.

 

“Do you want to shower?” Blitzen said out loud, but then covered his mouth and blushed. 

 

_ Sorry.  _ He signed, a blush creeping into his neck, he had been doing so well to just fuck it up that easily.

 

Hearthstone smiled, a blush also on his face.  _ It’s fine, I can read lips. _

 

_ So, do you want to use the bathroom?  _ Blitzen signed, making it known that even if he could read lips, he wouldn’t be forced to. His guest would be talked back in the language in which he knew. 

 

Hearthstone’s body went rigid, his eyes moving all over the place as if he’d just been asked a physics question _. I don’t want to waste your water. _

 

_ My landlord pays for the water and electricity bill. _ Blitz says with a sick smile spreading across his face.  _ So please take as long as you’d like. _

 

_ Ok,sir.  _ Then he started stripping in the living room by first taking off his shirt.  

 

The elf was seriously malnourished, with his ribs noticeable through his chest, his backbone could be seen and it was repulsive to Blitzen, especially knowing that the elf in front of him couldn’t be older than twenty and probably still lived with his prarents. Who would treat such a sweet elf like that?

 

_ No _ . Blitz signed while pointing at the bathroom.  _ That’s where you shower. I’ll take you some towels and clothes. _

 

Hearthstone walked to the bathroom nervously, as if he feared that Blitzen would do anything to him. In his back, he had many belt-shaped bruises and scratches, most were healing but some seemed recent, making Blitz hiss in pity. The poor elf was so traumatized that he did not even want to go back home, and Blitzen understood him, a place where he was treated like that was not a home.

 

There was an obvious problem when it came to wardrobe; Blitzen was 5’5 and Hearthstone was 6’1, so Blitzen had to make do with the things that he had that would fit the elf. He ended up choosing a pair of gray sweatpants that Darius had left in his house once and had never asked for and a black tank-top that Blitzen hadn’t worn since he was thirteen. He walked into the bathroom with the clothes folded and a towel. The first thing he did was yell at Hearthstone, giving him notice that there were a fresh change of clothes and a towel, then smacking himself because he’d forgotten that his new guest was deaf, and the second thing he did was listen to the sobs of the young elf, they broke his heart. He knew that the boy was broken, but hearing him cry felt like intruding, so he left the bathroom, starting to tidy up his workspace before going to sleep.

 

After fifteen minutes, Hearthstone came out of the shower in the clothes he’d been given and he looked hilarious: the sweatpants fitted him like a caprises and were held to his skinny frame by the elastic on the waistband, and the black tank -top hung on his body like a blouse, not tight at all. Blitz almost laughed, but chose against it to not make his guest feel uncomfortable.

 

_ Thank you  _ Hearthstone signed, real gratefulness in the way he signed it. Blitz hated how polite Hearthstone was, after all the suffering he had probably endured, he still found a way to be nice to people despite the bad cards he’d been dealt in life.

 

Blitzen smiled at the taller man, grabbing some blankets from a closet in his living room and dropping them on the couch.  _ No problem _

 

_ Why are you helping me ? _

 

Blitzen looked at him, cocking his head to the side. _ Because you are hurt, bleeding, and lost. Because it is the right thing to do. _

 

Blitzen knew someone in Hearthstone’s eyes told him that he didn’t deserve the kindness, that he was being a bother, that Blitzen just took pity on him because he was deaf. 

 

Hearthstone looked down at the floor while signing  _ Thank you _ . 

 

_ Let’s sleep. _ Blitzen grabbed at Hearthstone’s shoulders, and at seeing him flinch, realized that maybe he should wait a little bit more before touching the elf. Odin knows what type of things they had done to him in Alfheim. 

 

Hearthstone nods and then drops on the hard floor, only covered by  a carpet. Blitzen wanted to yell at how modest the elf was and beat the ass of whoever had caused his low self-esteem. The elf didn’t even seem uncomfortable on the floor, as if he was used to sleeping in similar surfaces without mattresses, but it was really cold outside, and Blitzen didn’t want his guest to die of pneumonia.

 

“Heartstone, that is not your bed.” Blitzen talks as he helps Hearthstone stand up, too tired to sign. although it should be noted that he still makes sure that he is talking normally and Hearthstone is following along. 

 

The dwarf hands him two thick blankets and points at his father’s old room. “That is where you sleep.”

 

Hearthstone’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He seemed like he had just been told that he was the winner of the lottery, and Blitzen wanted to wear sunglasses because of how bright the elf was. _ I get the bed? _

 

Blitzen signed and said at the same time ‘Yes’. 

 

“Sleep as much as you want.” Blitzen walks towards his own room without turning his back to Hearthstone. “I will check up on you again tomorrow.”


End file.
